MASTER so early of the various LYREEnergic, pure, sublime! — Thus art thou gone?In its bright dawn of Fame that Spirit flownWhich breath'd such sweetness, tenderness and fire!Wert thou but shewn to win us to admireAnd veil in Death thy Splendor? — But unknownTheir Destination who least time have shoneAnd brightest beam'd. — When these the ETERNAL SIRE,

II.—Righteous and wise and good are all his ways —Eclipses, as their Sun begins to rise;Can mortal judge, for their diminisht daysWhat blest Equivalent in changeless skies,What sacred glory waits them? — His the praise;Gracious, whate'er he gives, whate'er denies.24 Oct. 1806.